The clocktower's bell faded into the mist, leaving only the hum of gears and distant echoes.
Lior sat on the cold stone floor, his head heavy with memories that weren't his own — flashes of other lives, other worlds, and one name whispered in the darkness:
Elara.
"She's the key," Rhéa said softly, sitting beside him.
"Who?" Lior asked, confused.
"Not who," Mira corrected, "what."
Elara was the First Dreamer — the one who made the First Dream. The one who never woke up.
---
Images flashed in Lior's mind.
A young woman with eyes like stars, weaving threads of light and shadow together.
She dreamed a world perfect and fragile — but she was afraid. Afraid that if she woke, everything would shatter.
So she stayed.
And stayed.
And stayed.
Until her dream began to break.
---
"Is she... still dreaming?" Lior asked.
Rhéa nodded. "Her dream is the prison and the key. It holds all the fractured pieces of you. But it's also the prison of the Bleeding One."
Mira's eyes were hard. "If we find Elara, we might be able to end the cycle."
Lior's breath caught. "And what if she doesn't want to be found?"
"Then we'll have to bring her back."
---
Suddenly, the tower shook.
The air rippled with an eerie chill.
Outside, the village lights flickered.
A voice — Lior's voice — echoed from the depths below:
"Wake up."